<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Never Been Camping by Gwenpools_Aesthetic</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630083">Never Been Camping</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenpools_Aesthetic/pseuds/Gwenpools_Aesthetic'>Gwenpools_Aesthetic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Angst, F/M, First Kiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:28:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630083</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenpools_Aesthetic/pseuds/Gwenpools_Aesthetic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt settled back into the low, canvas camp chair. He drew a long breath, took a swig from his beer, and let his eyes slide shut. It was muscle memory, really, and he was sometimes amazed at the kinds of things that stayed with him even after everything else had faded. He couldn’t quite remember the color of the sky or the slope of his father’s nose, but he could picture smoke rising from Hell’s Kitchen rooftops on a cold winter’s day, and he still closed his eyes when he wanted to calm down.</p>
<p>He forced the muscles in his back to relax.</p>
<p>The air was cool and surprisingly crisp, a faint breeze carrying scents of the Hudson, and pollen, and significantly less car exhaust than he was used to. Things changed fast. He could hear fish in the river, the soft chirping of crickets, the occasional wing flap of a nocturnal bird.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is a prequel to The Place You Need To Reach, although they both stand on their own without the other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jessica Jones/Matt Murdock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Never Been Camping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/prinkes/gifts">prinkes</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Matt settled back into the low, canvas camp chair. He drew a long breath, took a swig from his beer, and let his eyes slide shut. It was muscle memory, really, and he was sometimes amazed at the kinds of things that stayed with him even after everything else had faded. He couldn’t quite remember the color of the sky or the slope of his father’s nose, but he could picture smoke rising from Hell’s Kitchen rooftops on a cold winter’s day, and he still closed his eyes when he wanted to calm down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forced the muscles in his back to relax.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air was cool and surprisingly crisp, a faint breeze carrying scents of the Hudson, and pollen, and significantly less car exhaust than he was used to. Things changed fast. He could hear fish in the river, the soft chirping of crickets, the occasional wing flap of a nocturnal bird. There were people talking too - a few, in the distance. Quiet murmurs, most barely above a whisper. No televisions blaring. No radios. The far off slamming of a door. A child crying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He focused his senses in close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica’s heartbeat was strong - a little faster than the average person’s, but totally normal for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. It’s weird, you know? Quiet. I’m not used to it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smelled like leather and cheap whiskey, stale blood and adrenaline. It should have been unsettling, but it wasn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you don’t like camping?” She popped the top off of a bottle of beer and drank half of it in one long pull. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her leather jacket was old and worn in, just a little musty, just a little salty, and it reminded Matt of the smell of his father’s boxing gloves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt could feel the stress in Jessica’s voice as she forced herself to sound disinterested. “You seem like the kinda generic white guy who loves camping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hair held onto the scent of her rundown apartment, so similar to the one he grew up in, where he learned to read braille at the small kitchen table, and sewed his dad up by touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt laughed, once, short and a little too loud for his own ears. “Never been camping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leather and whiskey, blood and adrenaline.. She smelled like a fighter. Moved like one, even when all she was doing was sitting up in her chair to glare at him. She breathed like a fighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She arched an eyebrow and sneered at him. “Isn’t abandoning someone in nature to fend for themselves a standard part of ninja training?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn’t worked together much since Midland Circle, but from the moment Matt had met her, Jessica Jones had felt like home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She found another beer, opened it, and drained it. He listened to her metabolize the alcohol. Even as quick as she was, it was starting to catch up with her. She would never get drunk, but Matt knew she could get tipsy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That didn’t usually end well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must have missed that day in ninja school. Probably the nuns needed me to scrub the narthex out with a toothbrush because I’d beaten Timmy Brennan to a bloody pulp for picking on Mary Sue Poots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mary Sue Poots?” Jessica barked out a laugh. “Tell me that’s a real name.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. She was an indignant little shit, too. Always getting herself in trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica rolled her eyes, but the skip in her heart told Matt the expression was one of fondness. “BFFs, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. We spent plenty of time in detention together, sure. But I think we were too alike to ever really have a chance of getting along.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica held a beer out to Matt, and he declined with a shake of his head. She shrugged and kept it for herself. The silence stretched between them.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No clue. She disappeared before she turned 18 and some kid started a rumor that she was a computer hacker living in a van. You know how kids can be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire crackled in front of them as the breeze picked up slightly, rustling the trees. Matt listened to all of it - the wind, the trees, the bugs, the birds. Not enough of any of them. The air hung heavy, like soot lingering on his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should have brought marshmallows.” Jessica talked into her beer. “Made s’mores. You like marshmallows?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” The silence was too loud. He wished he had something to do with his hands. “I like marshmallows.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate them.” Jessica picked at the label on her bottle. “They’re either too spongy or too sticky, and they make my teeth hurt. Anything out there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head, ears straining against the quiet of the night. “Is it too much to hope for a dull evening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sat. Matt listened. Jessica drank. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to go home,” she said quietly. Matt wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it. She had to know he could hear it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are home,” he reminded her. She didn’t look up from her beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire crackled. Matt could feel its heat reflected back up at him by the broken glass littering the ground, crunching under his feet when he shifted his weight. The wind rustled the trees. A bird flew overhead. A mother cried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will it get better?” Jessica shivered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Matt wanted to hand her a blanket, or lend her his coat, but he didn’t have either. He suspected she wasn’t really cold anyway. The night was unseasonably warm. “Who’s going to fix it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Avengers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You hate the Avengers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She snorted. “Yeah, well if they were going to be good for something, now would be the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt wasn’t sure what to say to that so he sat, listening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think they’re gone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt frowned. “I have to believe they’re not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why didn’t they come back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt scratched at the hair poking out from under his mask at the nape of his neck. He didn’t answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we doing more harm than good?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Jessica, no… I…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are we even doing?” Her muscles tensed like she wanted to stand. The heel of her heavy boot ground a staccato beat into the gravel and the glass. Her heart was racing now. “We’re not stopping anyone. We send some asshole away, but they’re just going to go start trouble somewhere else.” Her fingers tensed against her legs as she gripped her own thighs. “We can’t defend the whole city. We can’t even defend the Kitchen, goddamnit.” She gestured wildly at the empty lot they were sitting in, the makeshift bonfire and the gravel and the broken glass and the burned out building behind them. “Three days ago, this was my home. And now it’s nothing. The building is gone, the people are gone… we couldn’t stop this. What makes you think we can stop anything?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She drained what was left in the bottle, then threw it to the side carelessly. Matt felt it smash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think they’re gone. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers and Luke and Danny and Colleen and Claire…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jessica, stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re all fucking gone.” The words were tumbling out of her, too fast and too loud. Matt could hear her pulse climbing, her breathing quickening. “Malcolm and Geri and Foggy and Karen and Misty…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jess.” She was starting to hyperventilate. Matt stood up quickly. The glass crunched under his boots as he moved to her, dropping down to his knees, ignoring the sharp sting of stones and wood and burnt plaster as he took her hands in his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not coming back, Matt. Half of everyone and they’re not coming back. What if we’re the only ones left? It’s not enough. We’re not enough. I’m not…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed her. Maybe if they’d been in a movie, he would have slapped her, but they weren’t and he didn’t. He cupped his hand around the side of her jaw, fingers extending back to the base of her neck, pulling her lips to his. He felt her gasp against his mouth. Felt her tense in surprise, then melt into the kiss. She stood, too strong muscles hauling him up with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica kissed like she fought: rage and fear and aggression and self doubt. Matt felt all of it. He wasn’t sure it was good. He wasn’t sure either of them wanted it. But he knew they both needed it and as Jessica yanked him closer, he knew it wasn’t going to end any time soon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also knew that, when it did end, it wasn’t going to be pretty.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my Daredevil Gift Exchange for 2020. The prompts used were:<br/>- glass<br/>- a stakeout<br/>- “Some of us are out of place even when we are home.” + Krysten Ritter, Bonfire<br/>- scenario: cooking s'mores around a campfire</p>
<p>This is also a prequel to my other DDE2020 piece, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26192377/chapters/63738280">The Place You Need To Reach</a>, although knowledge of one is not required to appreciate the other.</p>
<p>I hope you enjoyed it! Please drop me a note and let me know what you thought. And let's hang out!!  <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwenpoolsaesthetic">on Tumblr</a> or on Discord @Gwendolyn Poole#7925! Also I just finally set myself up on Twitter: @gwenrpoole (don't forget the "e"). If you follow me, I'll follow you, and then maybe I'll be inspired to do something there!! EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>